


On Each Other’s Team

by TheWalkingGrimes



Series: Tales of District Four [19]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Just a little glimpse of Mags and Finnick’s relationship, Mags POV, Mentoring woes, Quarter Quell, referenced sex trafficking, subtle in this one though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingGrimes/pseuds/TheWalkingGrimes
Summary: Mags knows how to get through to Finnick.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Mags & Finnick Odair
Series: Tales of District Four [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018845
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	On Each Other’s Team

Once, when she was a young woman, Mags used to always be the first one up. She would rise even before the sun, and prepare the crab traps for the early catch. Even once she became a victor and her life turned into one of supposed ‘leisure’, she would still wake with the dawn and find something productive to do.

As the years have worn down on her, Mags has found herself slipping from that habit. It now takes her a considerable amount of effort to pry her eyes open and haul her weary bones out of bed to face the day.

Sometimes, she’s not sure if it’s physical weariness or the toll of everything she has lived through. The unbearable weight of the lives depending on her has not lessened as time has passed.

This year, those lives are Dana and Haf - two strong volunteers who everyone is hoping will end the brutal losing streak that Four has been on for the past few years. Losing the Games is not uncommon - even with their odds of about one in seven. However, it’s unusual for Four to be taken out so early in the Games for so many years running. One and Two have been sending a clear message, and if this goes on for another year, Mags might start steering her tributes away from the traditional ‘Career’ alliance.

As she hobbles into the dining room for a late breakfast, she sees that the tributes, their Capitol teams, and the other victors who tagged along for the festivities have already finished their meals. When they notice her arrival, everyone’s attention swivels over to Mags.

“Good morning!” Hapitha chirps at her. She’s a silly girl and Mags hates her just a little bit - their previous escort was a close friend of hers, until he was caught smuggling food out of the Capitol and executed. Hapitha was his replacement and sometimes Mags is convinced Snow personally selected the most vapid, stupid escort available just to punish her.

“Where is Finnick?” Dana asks, craning her neck as if expecting to see her six foot two mentor hiding behind Mags’s tiny frame.

Haf scoffs. “Probably still prettying up in the bathroom. I heard the water running earlier.”

There’s a real, cold anger in his voice. Different than the past tributes who would sometimes make jokes about Finnick’s appearance and fame - usually encouraged and joined in by Finnick himself, but sometimes turned into nasty comments when they thought their mentors were out of earshot. Haf isn’t motivated by gallows humor or even the desire to push someone else down in order to distract himself from the very real possibility that he may be dead in a matter of days. No, there is genuine hurt behind his dismissiveness.

Dana sighs. “It’s been over an hour - we were supposed to go over knots this morning…”

That gets Mags’s attention. Finnick does indeed spend a good deal of time getting ready in the mornings, because he has a strict skin care and hair routine that he is required to follow at all times while in the Capitol (he is also required to follow it when he is home, but every year without fail he will “forget” what the routine is, and get yelled out by his prep team when they get their hands on them again). But over an hour is definitely unusual, even for him.

“Orion, can you review ropework with them?” Mags requests the surly victor, who opens his mouth as if he’s about to protest, but is quickly quelled at her look. “I’ll go make sure Finnick hasn’t drowned himself in there.”

The joke does the trick - Dana snorts and Haf rolls his eyes - but when Mags enters Finnick’s bathroom after two minutes of knocking with no response, she fears that her words may have been more on the nose than she intended.

Finnick is curled up in the large bathtub on his side, his face tucked away so that she can’t see it.

Mags’s heart drops.

“Finnick!” She says sharply, and nearly staggers with relief when she sees him stir. He doesn’t lift his head up, but he is certainly alive. So she hobbles over to him more cautiously, still concerned that he might be injured but not wanting to scare him.

As she approaches, Mags does a quick scan of his body (thank goodness he’s curled in such a way that his genitals are covered, although she’s probably seen more of this boy than any other person in over twenty years) and doesn’t see anything that alarms her. Physically. He’s lying with his face half-in the water, his right arm curled up around it, while his left is hugging his knees. If he’s trying to drown himself, he’s not doing a very efficient job, but Mags will admit she doesn’t know what else he could be doing.

Mags notices him shivering and dips a finger into the water. It’s practically freezing.

“Are you trying to catch hypothermia?” She scolds Finnick, who doesn’t even look at her. He just hugs himself tighter. “Finnick. _Finnick._ Are you hearing me?”

He doesn’t give any indication that he is. Either he’s tucked somewhere so deep in his own mind that he _doesn’t_ hear her, or he’s doing a solid job of pretending that he can’t. With him, either possibility is equally likely.

Very, _very_ carefully, Mags rests a hand on his shoulder.

Once upon a time when he was fresh out of the arena, or during those awful few months when he’d come home from the 66th Hunger Games and shrank away from any human contact, Mags’s cautiousness would have been warranted. But violent reactions to unexpected touch are something Finnick can no longer afford.

So instead he lets out an almost imperceptibly soft whine, snapping his attention toward her with an automatic smile and a vacant expression that suggests he’s looking through her, not at her.

“It’s just me.” Mags says, keeping her hand where it is as an anchoring presence. “Just Mags. You’re safe here. You’re with me.”

She keeps talking to him like this, soothing words and a gentle steadying touch, until she watches his pupils return to normal and awareness to sink back into his face.

Finally, he gains enough lucidity to pull himself up into a sitting position, then resumes hugging his knees.

“Let’s get you out of the tub, okay?” Mags suggests, still not daring to move her hand anywhere else. Finnick shakes his head. “You’re shivering, you’re going to get yourself sick.”

He keeps shaking his head.

Mags sighs, then carefully reaches past him with her other hand to pull the drain.

Finnick lets out a low noise of protest.

“One second.” She waits for at least half the water to drain out, then turns on the hot water. “The water was freezing. How long have you been sitting here?”

“Don’t know.” Finnick says quietly. “I couldn’t get clean.”

“Well, sitting in the dirty water, I’d imagine not.” Mags replies practically, choosing to take him literally instead of acknowledging that he’s talking about more than just physical cleanliness. That’s the best course of action when he gets like this. “Showers are better.”

He flinches. “I hate showers.”

It’s almost a plea - _don’t make me go in there. Don’t make me do that._

“Then stay in the tub. It’s your choice. I’m not going to make you do anything.”

His shoulders sag and this time when he looks up at her Mags knows he’s really seeing her. “I don’t think I can go out there and see them. Not today.”

“This is their last day of training.” Mags reminds him. “You can’t avoid them.”

“There’s nothing that I can teach them that you can’t. I’m completely redundant. _Useless.”_

She clucks her tongue at him chidingly. “You’re not _useless._ It’s been nearly seventy years since I’ve been in that arena, who do you think they’d rather hear advice from? Me, the old lady who won back when sponsors were barely relevant, or _you?”_

Finnick rolls his eyes, and normally she would smack him gently on the head for the sass, but right now she’s just grateful to see him coming back to himself. “So what, I’m just there for the _idea_ of being useful? To make them feel better?”

“You’re better with rope than I am.”

“Oh, great.”

“Finnick.” Mags softens her voice. “Those kids need you.”

He shakes his head again, jaw clenching. “They don’t. I can’t help them. Nothing I can do will help them and in a few days they’ll probably _die_ \- and some assholes at fancy parties will laugh while they do. They’ll - they’ll watch it and they’ll laugh and they’ll…” Finnick shrinks back into himself, and the shudders that pass through his body don’t appear to be from the temperature of the water.

Clearly, something happened last night when he was called away for an ‘appointment.’ Once upon a time, Mags would have asked him about it. In the beginning, when she thought it would do him good to talk about it. Back when she could actually get an answer, anyway.

But something happened after his mother was killed. Either Finnick had decided that the only way to get through the abuse was to pretend it wasn’t happening and to never talk about it… or something inside him had broken. Whatever the reason, Finnick never confided in her anymore about what he went through when he was called away. He would either brush off her questions with a smile or clam up and refuse to speak. So Mags had learned not to ask.

Mags carefully moves her hand from his shoulder to his hair, and waits to see if Finnick will shy away. When he leans into her touch, she takes that as a good sign and rubs soothing circles on his scalp. “I know it’s harder this year, with your friend.”

“We’re not friends.” He bites out, with that same angry hurt that Haf carries with him. “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. It’s just hard for other people to understand how the arena changes you. Especially when they’re as young as you boys were when you won.”

“Is it bad that I want him to win?” Finnick asks her, searching her eyes. “Not just because… I mean, I don’t want him to die. I can’t watch him die, that’s just…” He trails off, lost in his mind for a few moments before regrouping. “But it’s not just that. I want him to win because… maybe then he’ll understand. And I could maybe get my friend back.”

“It’s not bad at all. Better than wishing him dead.”

“But you wouldn’t let me mentor him…”

“Because it would be too much of a distraction for Haf.” Mags informs him bluntly. “He already wastes so much of his attention focusing on what you’re doing and where you’re going. That’s easier for me to redirect.”

“And you’re not worried about me mentoring Dana when I want Haf to win?”

Mags raises an eyebrow. _“Should_ I be?”

“No.” Finnick huffs, annoyed that she called his bluff. “No, I’d never let her die on purpose just to help Haf win.”

“And that’s what I assumed. You’re a _good mentor,_ Finnick. You have the right instincts, and the moral integrity that frankly more than a few of the other victors lack. Why do you think I let you mentor at all?”

“Because Snow says I have to?”

“I could have pushed back on that, but I didn’t.”

Finnick will never know this, but Mags had not only not pushed back, she had used it as a negotiating tool. Finnick’s initial schedule for the sixty-seventh Hunger Games - the year he began mentoring and taking ‘appointments’ - had been nothing short of horrendous. Hapitha, for all her faults, had sent it to Mags to verify first because it ‘didn’t seem right’, and Mags spent four days pulling every string and connection she had in the Capitol until she was able to get President Snow himself on the phone.

 _“You’re going to break him.”_ She’d told the President bluntly, fingers shaking with rage as she gripped the receiver. _“This schedule is impossible. Mentoring is taxing, if you have him taking this many appointments at the same time he’s going to burn out in the first year. And I know that people have been clamoring to see him mentor. So he can’t take this many appointments. Mentally, physically… he can’t do it.”_

It took some convincing - at first the answer had been a hard _no_ \- but Mags’s persistence managed to make it past Snow’s Machiavellian need for control through to the more pragmatic side of the President as he realized she was truly being honest with him, not attempting a power play. So he agreed to postpone about a third of the appointments to a later date, for either the Victory Tour or the next year.

Mags had never told Finnick about that conversation, and occasionally she wondered if she had done the right thing - maybe Finnick would have preferred to get them out of the way during the Games and not have to go back to the Capitol every year for the Tour. But given how his popularity seems to be _increasing_ over the years, Mags thinks it’s likely that he would have been called back just as frequently. More importantly, at the time he had been only a sixteen year old boy who did not understand his limits.

_(Sometimes, Mags’s heart stutters over that though. Sixteen. He was sixteen. He was fourteen when he won. Why did she let him do it? Why hadn’t she made him wait?_

_But maybe, if she had, he would not be sitting in front of her today. Finnick at fourteen was young enough to be underestimated. Finnick at sixteen, seventeen, eighteen? He would have been a target right from the start._

_And no matter what has happened, Mags will never be sorry for Finnick being alive. She will never think he would be better off dead.)_

“I like co-mentoring with you. You’re young, and you make mistakes sometimes, but I never have to doubt your intentions.” The same cannot be said for all the other District Four victors. If Finnick were not here, it would probably be Drake instead and while Mags loves that boy (he will always be a ‘boy’ in her eyes, no matter how old he gets) she trusts him about as far as she can throw him. “We make a good team, Finnick.”

She waits to see if her words will have their desired effect. Finnick may not talk to her about it anymore, but Mags had heard enough to have some idea of what goes on in his head. That it’s easy for him to forget that he has value beyond what Snow makes him do. That there is so much more to him than his face and body. That in spite of everything, he is a good person and though they may try the Capitol cannot steal that away from him.

Slowly, Finnick lifts his head and releases the death-grip on his knees. “I should probably get out of the bathtub.” He mumbles.

“That would be a good start.” Mags agrees, and hands him a towel.

He takes it, balling it up into one pruny hand while the other presses palm-down against the surface of the water. “Do you miss the ocean when you’re here?”

“All the time.” She eyes the half-empty container of bath salts by the edge of the tub and understanding clicks. “You know, my bathtub is so big you can practically go swimming in it.”

“Really?” Finnick perks up. “How’d you land that one?”

“Age before beauty. I was here first, so I got the master suite. _But,_ since I like you, if you ever want to use it then I won’t complain. As long as you promise not to freeze yourself half to death again.”

“Does it also double as a jacuzzi?”

“It’s the Capitol.” Mags deadpans. “Does anything _not_ double as a jacuzzi?”

“Alright, I’m convinced.” Finnick begins draining the bathtub, covering himself up with the towel as he gets up and moves so he is sitting next to her on the edge instead. He hesitates, then adds more softly: “Thanks, Mags.”

She ruffles his hair with fondness. “I’m always here for you, _mijo._ Even when you’d rather I go away, I’ll still be here.”

“I never want you to go away.” Finnick leans over and kisses her cheek. “Even if I act like I do, I always want you here.”

“I know. I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

* * *

  
  


“No.”

“My choice.”

“No.”

“My choice.”

_“No.”_

“This argument isn’t really progressing anywhere.” Annie points out mildly, twisting the long ends of her hair with nerves. “Maybe we should all get some sleep and talk about it in the morning?”

“It should be _Meri,”_ insists Finnick, looking at Mags like she’s the most aggravating person he’s ever met. “If we’re going to be picking volunteers, then obviously it should be Meri. I’ve seen her toss spears around at the Center, she’s got an actual fighting chance.”

“Who says I don’t?” Mags replies stubbornly. Or, she tries to reply but it comes out more garbled than she intended - ever since that damn stroke, speech has been difficult for her.

But Finnick understands her. “Mags, I love you, but you weigh maybe seventy pounds. And you’ve got your hip issue. You wouldn’t even be able to run, let alone fight.”

“Meri - kids.” Mags insists. “Can’t go.”

“I can - I can go in.” Annie interjects, her eyes wide and terrified at the possibility, and she twists her hair tighter. “I don’t have any kids, and I can still run fast and -”

“Oh god, please no.” Finnick’s face completely drains of all color, as his focus shifts and his world narrows down to Annie and her horrifying suggestion. “God no, Annie, if we both had to go in, I couldn’t do it -”

“Well who says _you_ have to go in?” Annie snaps back at him. “When was that decided? Maybe it will be Drake or Shale -”

“Is that supposed to make me _feel better,_ you going in with _Drake_ -”

“Annie - moment alone?” Mags asks her, and she sees the girl deflate. It’s the fear that’s making her angry - making all of them angry. “Talk to Finnick.”

Annie looks between the two of them, torn between the respect she’s always given their friendship, and not wanting to leave them alone to scheme against her. Respect wins out. “Fine. But we _are_ talking about this later. All three of us.”

Mags waits until she’s left the house, before turning back to Finnick. “She can’t.”

“I know that.” Finnick growls at her, running his hands through his hair. “I _know_ she can’t. But telling her that will just make her want to do it more.”

“Flashbacks-”

“I know.”

In many ways, Annie has come such a long way in her recovery since her arena. She regularly goes down to the beach, even swimming in the water on good days. She goes into town and talks to strangers. But loud noises still set her off. So do unexpected touches, or even people approaching her suddenly. The Games themselves are particularly difficult for her, and Annie spends most of that time in her studio trying to ignore the outside world for weeks on end until they’re over.

Annie is strong, but she is suffering from an ailment that is just as difficult to manage as Mags’s stroke or her bad hip. And in the arena, it would be deadly.

Finnick is chewing on his lip, eyes darting around, and Mags suddenly realizes that he is _keeping_ something from her. So she gets up and crosses the kitchen, turning on the empty dishwasher. There is a soft buzzing sound as the radio waves emit from the device hidden inside (she thinks it’s radio waves - Beetee had explained it once to her), interfering with the bugs so that the only sound they hear is the loud chugging of the dishes running.

“Hiding something.” Mags tells Finnick, folding her arms.

He sighs, and buries his face in his hands. After a few long moments, he finally mumbles. “I talked to _our_ _friend_ while I was in the Capitol. I’m going back in.”

Mags’s heart drops.

“Volunteer?”

Finnick lifts his head. “Probably won’t have to. He thinks my name will be pulled. And if Snow doesn’t suggest it, he will.”

Anger pumps through Mags’s veins, but she pushes it aside until she knows the full story. “Why?”

He covers his lips with his hand. It’s unlikely that there are any cameras here, Mags has checked probably a hundred times and they’re not as easy to hide as listening devices, but he’s being extremely careful. “We have to get _her_ out.”

He doesn’t mean Annie. He means someone who will be going in no matter what, and Mags is certain that’s not Johanna Mason.

So it’s happening then. There is a plan to get the Mockingjay out, and Plutarch has recruited Finnick for it. “Sacrifice self?” Mags asks him, unable to hide the dismay in her voice. He would, she knows that he would. Maybe not for a girl that he doesn’t even know, but for what she represents? Even the nebulous promise of revolution?

For that, Mags knows he would give his life. More than once, if it were possible.

“Not necessarily.” Finnick looks around, then moves over to one of her bird cages that she keeps at the window. As she watches, he opens the door and her three mischievous parakeets instantly seize the opportunity to make the break for freedom and zoom into her living room, where they will undoubtedly defecate over everything.

Mags can’t find it in herself to be annoyed. She’s staring at the empty cage.

It’s something they’d talked about before, in the early days. The possibility of breaking into the arena and rescuing the tributes. There were rumors - quiet, hushed whispers that no one dared speak too loud - that in the Games before Mags’s, someone had broken in and interfered. She hasn’t heard any such talk in a very, very long time.

“Meri has the best chance.” Finnick continues their earlier conversation, as if nothing has changed. Of course, everything has changed, and Mags understands even more now why he’s so insistent it should be Meri. “She’s a strong fighter and she’s still in excellent shape. If I can just talk to her -”

“No.” Mags immediately shuts him down. “Too dangerous.”

She loves Meri - loves her _dearly._ But Meri has spent her entire adult life playing by the Capitol’s rules so that she could earn her happiness with a family of her own. Mags knows that deep inside, Meri hates the Capitol for the things they did to her, even if she pretends they never happened. But that hatred is masked by fear - terror for what the Capitol could do to her or her family if she ever dared step a toe out of line.

Finnick, who has edged a toe or two of his own past the boundaries, is a different story. There is a reason that Mags recommended him for recruitment to Plutarch. He does have something to lose, but more importantly he has something to fight for.

“No matter what happens, it’ll be dangerous for her.” Finnick admits, so quietly she can barely hear him. And Mags knows he’s right - she remembers when they suspected a conspiracy during the Thirty-First Hunger Games. Nine victors were executed (quietly, away from public eye) for even being tangentially involved. For something of this scale? Even if they’re able to pull it off, _none_ of them will be safe.

“Too risky for _us.”_ Mags shakes her head. “She’ll tell. I won’t.”

“Mags-”

“Let me do this.” She insists. “Please. Can’t lose any more.”

Finnick stares at her for a long time. She can see in his eyes, the way his shoulders slump, when he caves under her stubbornness. “Fine. But I’m going to get you to the Finale. Even if I have to carry you on my back the whole time.”

 _“Fine_ , but drop when you must.”

_“Mags.”_

“My choice.” Mags reiterates fiercely. “Maybe few years left. _Waste_ , you die for me.”

He sniffs loudly at that, and she hands him a cloth to wipe his tears away on. “I don’t want you to die.” Finnick tells her, misery swimming in his watery eyes. “I don’t want any of us to have to die. This is so unfair.”

“It is.” She agrees, and takes his hand. “Get through this together.”

Finnick squeezes her hand back.

“We _do_ make a good team.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
